“On the contrary,” Celia said, spinning. The ribbons flew out in a perfect golden ratio. “It demonstrates the irrationality of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. It is a dress of pure, unassailable logic.”
Princess Celia, still wearing her Pi dress, sat down beside him. She unpinned one of the infinite blue ribbons and tied it around his wrist. It was a small, irrational, completely unnecessary gesture. frivolousdressorder
“No reason,” she said. “That’s what makes it good.” “On the contrary,” Celia said, spinning
The only one who didn’t dance was Bartholomew Pence. He sat on the palace steps, wearing his grey tunic, looking at his empty hands. He had spent so long cutting the frivolity out of others, he had forgotten how to put any into himself. It is a dress of pure, unassailable logic
“Joy in clothing is a gateway vice,” he would mutter, confiscating a hat with a single, lonely feather. “Next, you’ll be wanting pockets shaped like animals.”